Infinite Lines
by Wicked R
Summary: after the ep. Agatha Ripp. A different take on how the reconciliation between Sean and Christian takes place.
1. Default Chapter

Title: End Of Tether

Author: Wicked R

Disclaimers: characters are the property of FX. I'm using them for fun only.

Rating: R.

Genre: Angst/darkfic. Warning! Extreme Negative Emotions. Don't read if you're not completely comfortable with the genre. Written in first person.

Summary/Set: after the ep. Agatha Ripp. A different take of how the reconciliation between Sean and Christian takes place.

I'm wandering about aimlessly in the empty surgery. I don't know what I'm doing and why I came here. I look at the sign, that once said McNamara/Troy. Sean took it down last night, right after I let him beat me as much as he wished. He followed it up with hammering our sign down and whacking the part where it said Troy to pieces. I guess that means it's over. I lost my best friend. I feel lost myself. I don't understand. I gave him the most precious gift I ever could. I gave up the love of my life for him. For his friendship. I'm not sure if Julia would've said yes if I asked her to marry me back then, but I never tried to take her away from him. He accused me of treachery. He doesn't understand how hard it was for me to give her up. In my whole ludicrous sexually oriented life I only slipped up once. Once. While I want her all day all night. I want her all the time. I fantasize that every woman I'm with is her. Still, that one mistake cost me my best friend. My only friend. I feel hurt somewhere distant, but it doesn't register with me anymore. I'm numb. I'm looking at myself as if from the outside, and I'm not recognising myself. I ponder for a second why that might be. Why do I feel the way I feel? Why can't I live without Sean's friendship? Then I figure it out. Without Sean means without Julia as well. No way I can as much as ever look at her the same way. Sean will not let me. Not that she was ever mine, apart from that fleeting half an hour that she lay in my arms. Once. I love you Julia. I love you Sean. I love you Wilbur. I love you Matt, even if you will never consider me your father. I know, you love your dad. And that is the way it should be. Sean's a good father. One I could never be. As I wander I halt in front of a mirror. I'm unshaved, and I didn't sleep last night. I look like hell. I don't get it. I never needed plastic surgery to look good. Okay, maybe my nose is a bit bigger than it should be, but after the ordeal with it not so long ago, I would never want to touch it again. It is my physical appearance women appreciate. Once they start to know me, they don't want me anymore. Nobody wants me. Nobody will miss me here at the surgery. Nobody would miss me anywhere. There's an immense whole where my chest used to be. I don't like it. I don't want to need anyone, I don't want to be broken and weak. But I am and I hate it. I don't want to feel like this anymore. I have nothing to live for, nothing at all. I am just empty. There is nothing for me, now or ever. Why should I go on? Why? Things will never get better because I can't change. I always screw up, sooner or later. There are no solutions to my problems. I tried relationships, they just don't work for me. But I'm so scared to be alone. I will never be happy again. There is no point in trying anymore. I just want to give up. I feel so hopeless. The future is empty for me. What is the meaning of life for me? I'm usually doing one of the following: fucking, eating, sleeping, doing pointless surgeries on other hopeless people or thinking about the meaning of my god damn life. Is this life? I only see things getting worse in the future. Without Sean. That is the reflection of the side of the drugs cabinet in the mirror. That's were the answer is. I focus on what I'm doing, not the thoughts. There are no thoughts. I walk over to the cabinet slowly and find the appropriate key on the key ring in my pocket. I look at the names of the medicines. Anaesthetics. Thiopentone. For some reason it's not Liz's handwriting. It's Sean's. I can't help it, I have to run my fingers over his writing. It's not much, but at least it's a connection to him. I move to prepare a solution, dissolving the yellowish powder in sterile water. Sterile! Why do I bother? It doesn't matter for me anyway. I remember a quote I read somewhere once. Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live. I'm dead already. For a second there I stop and I contemplate if I'm gone insane. Would be a fair thing, with my childhood as it was. My difficulties of maintaining relationships, my sex addiction, the way I protect myself being cruel towards others, to Kim, everyone, all my problems, a direct result of my childhood. I know that. Still, the feeling remains. I smile wickedly as I prepare the syringe. I know the exact doze I need to be cold and stiff long before the morning. I know because I'm a doctor. Not a good one, but a doctor nevertheless. Not for long. I chose Thiopentone because the onset time of it is approximately the time it takes for the drug to travel from the vein in the arm to the brain. I can't change my mind. There's nothing and nobody that could hurt…me…a…nymo…


	2. Void

Chapter 2: Void

I'm totally drunk. I should leave soon. But where would I go? Home? Do I have a home anymore? I sent my wife away and I have a boy who's sleeping in my house who isn't mine. It feels like he is my son, but he isn't. Still, I should stop drinking that cheap whiskey. To hell with it, I finish my drink and stand up. That was easy, although walking in a straight line isn't. What am I talking about? Walking is, point blank hard, straight or not. I can only concentrate at one point in my vision at a time. Let that be the door. I look for my car outside. Driving is not an option, but maybe I can sleep in it. I remember I left my car at the surgery, a block down. I walk along the wall. It helps with the balance. I don't like being drunk, I don't like loosing control. But it was a good idea this time, I seem not to care who and why cheated on me, and what will I going to do with that information. I only want away from both of them, maybe if I don't see them for a while, I will know where I stand. I reach my car, it's standing right in front of the surgery. It would be nicer to sleep in a bed, even if it is as bleak and sterile as the ones in a practice. The surgery is open and for a second, I'm happy about it. I'm not sure I'm in any condition to find the key hole. But it's strange. Who would want to break in? Maybe some drug addict. Right enough, the door to the medicine room is also open. I sober up a little bit, awaiting an attack. Everything's silent, so I move towards the door to peek in. I'm too drunk for such a fine movement, so I stumble into the room instead. Some things are not where they should be and the cabinet door is also lying unlocked. There's a needle on the floor. I hold on to the table as I corner it and almost trip over the body that's lying next to it. It's Christian. I look up to the cabinet, then back down the floor in confusion. I don't understand. He can't do this. He can't do this to me. Once again, I feel cheated. Anger flares up in me once more. I'm the one who's life has entered crisis, not him. Why is he doing this to me? He's always been the one I had to save. I'm not playing that game anymore. I stare at him and I notice that I can't see his chest going up and down. Finally, that gets me. I sober up even more and practically jump on him to check for pulse. I'm wrong. There is one, however weak. I wanna know how bad it is, so I snatch a torch from the table and lift up his eyelids, much more in control of my own movements then I was two minutes ago. I go on automatic pilot. I detect dilated pupils, cold, sweaty skin, shallow, irregular breathing. He won't be able to keep it up long. I check if the airways are clear, place him in the recovery position and cover him with my coat. He remains unresponsive though the whole procedure. I need to find out what drugs are missing and how much. At the same time, I pull my cell out and call for an ambulance, telling them about my location and my colleague's condition. Only one of the Thiopentone boxes are open, but it seems like I can't tell without Liz how much was in there. Of course, there should be written down somewhere, but I don't have the time to look. I will talk to her a little bit later, maybe on the way to the hospital. I pick up the oxygen, put the mask over Christian's mouth and contemplate whether I should perform haemodialysis myself to remove some of the drugs from his bloodstream, but I hear the sound of the ambulance. Just a couple of minutes later I help the paramedics put him on a stretcher.

"I'm going with. He's my partner," I tell them, and on my way out I look at the McNamara/Troy sign that I bashed to pieces yesterday. I can't see any of the letters from Troy intact. Is that a bad sign? No, most people recover if treatment is begun early. But how early did I arrive? Somewhere along the line I started to care, I monitor myself. The paramedics urge me to try to find out how much aesthetics he had taken, so I speed dial Liz. She tells me the box was unopened before, so it was full. She gets uncharacteristically worried about Christian and tells me she will meet us at the hospital. I'm nervous, still a bit drunk and I can't count. Especially as I freak out when I realise how much of the powder was missing. So I tell the amounts to the man who sits next to me in the ambulance. He takes a pen out of his pocket and calculates for a few seconds on his chart. I don't wanna look. He doesn't have to tell me the result of his computation, I know already that Christian meant it. He wanted to die. It wasn't just some cry for help, an appeal to me or anybody. Oh, my god! Oh my God, he meant it! I don't understand any of this! Why? I know that the most likely people to complete a successful suicide attempt are male, single and with a history of abuse and they'd do it without any warning. That's what the statistics say. Still, the voice in my head shouts, I don't understand!

"I don't understand," I say out loud, "it doesn't make sense."

The paramedic glances at me sympathetically, "suicide hardly ever does."

I rub my face, trying to shake off the rest of my drunkenness. I'm shocked and confused and my stomach turns. At least some of the drinks are out of my system.

"Are you ok? Physically, I mean," the paramedic asks me and gives me some paper to clear up the mess I created. He can't. He's busy with my friend.

"Yeah, I'm sorry, I got pretty drunk tonight. If I didn't I would've never went back and I would've never found him," full realisation hits me again as I say this. Nobody would've found him till the morning. That was the way he intended it. I notice how sweaty my clothes are and I realise at the same time that my own breathing has gone shallow. I'm in shock. But I tell my body that my reactions are wrong. I shouldn't be in shock because Christian is not my friend. Maybe he never really was, if he slept with my wife. I plan how I will give him into trouble for this suicide attempt as well if he survives. If, if, if…I hate that word! I can't loose him. Somehow, I don't know how, this has to do with me. He will make me feel guilty for the rest of my life if he dies now, and I have done nothing wrong! Maybe that was what he wanted. Selfish bastard. But how will I be able to live without him? I don't know how to do that, we were together for that long. My body doesn't listen to my arguments and my heart is still beating fast. Shit! I should have started haemodialysis. This journey takes way too long. I knew it! The monitor starts to produce straight horizontal lines and I shout, "start compressions!" Of course, they are already on it, pushing me out the way. There's nothing I can do. Oh, my God, please don't let him die. Please, please God! I don't care what he has done. I don't care about anything else than his life. We arrive to destination and Christian is getting rolled away from me. I try to follow, but they push me back.

"Please, I'm a doctor, you know that," I plead with the paramedic.

"You are also drunk and you are too involved to be able to help. How about completing some forms? A nurse will be with you in a minute."

I know he's right and I nod, slumping back against the wall. But that isn't the reason why I'm not there with him. I know I'm a coward, but I don't want to watch him die…

Tbc


	3. Sacharine

Chapter 3: Saccharine

Liz is bringing me my fourth cup of coffee, telling me this is the last one. I'm too fretful as it is. I only take a sip when I see Christian's doctor coming towards us.

"Hi again," she smiles at me courteously, nodding, "your partner is undergoing haemodialysis. We pumped his stomach, just in case he'd taken something else. It's standard procedure. The results of his toxicology examination later indicated that the

anaesthetic was the only thing he took. He's stable, but he's having some difficulties breathing, so he'll remain intubated."

"What's his pulse ox?"

"Ninety. Blood pressure a hundred over sixty, pulse eighty six."

I nod, somewhat relieved. While his blood oxygen level is worrying, he's not that serious at the moment overall. Dr. Mula leaves us and I finally ready to get myself together enough to go and see him. I tell Liz to go home, sleep, I'll be ok now. I'll let her know. She looks at me and asks if I'm sure, but I know she wants to go. It was a big thing she came out for Christian anyway. Or maybe she came for me. Last, I ask her to call Julia and tell her she needs to take Annie to school tomorrow. I don't wanna call her myself, and I certainly don't want to tell her about Christian, mainly because I can predict how concerned she will get, her affection for him seeping through the speaker system of my mobile. I don't wanna deal with that kinda thing right now, what is important now is for my colleague to survive. I'm standing at the door of the room where they had put Christian in. I'm not sure I'm ready for the sight. As I slowly make my way into the room, I know I'm not. I have never seen him so frail, I barely recognise him behind the machines and tubes that are keeping him alive. I know what they are for, still, the fact that it doesn't seem to be Christian, just a body, shocks me. He's never that still, not even when he's sleeping. Sitting down into a chair at the side of the bed, I stare at the body resting within it. I'm stuck watching his chest, going up and down with an artificial rhythm. It somehow reassures me and I start to feel again.

"Hey, partner," I talk to him quietly, clearing my drunken hoarse throat before I continue, "any time you want to wake up is fine by me. You don't have to run and hide from me," I promise, and I mean it. At the time. There is no reaction from the bed, so I add, "hang in there. You hear me?" I notice that my voice has turned into begging now. I don't understand myself. Maybe I over react. I should be angry with him. So I give up on my idea of holding his hand and I lean back into my chair to pass the time for half an hour with watching the line on the monitor bounce progressively more and more regularly. Good sign. I relax. Emotionally and physically exhausted, my thoughts become jumbled and sleep takes over me.

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My eyes shot open as I'm suddenly woken up by something, I'm not sure what. Hospital is fairly quiet at this hour. I notice movement from out of the corner of my eye and I look in that direction to witness Christian's sunken eyes slowly open. He blinks, then he stares into space with blank, desolate eyes that I start to worry if his brain was lacking oxygen for too long, causing some damage. But the look in his eyes changes before long and I wish it didn't. Because the look in them is complete terror, and disbelief. I acknowledge that I was right. He didn't want to be here. Or maybe I misunderstand. Perhaps he's just confused. He starts to thrash about. I hold him down and he tries to push me away, seemingly unaware of who is holding him. I tower over him and our eyes meet. He freezes immediately and I tell him, "you're going to be fine." I more like smirk, than smile, at least allowing myself some negativity towards him. I take pleasure from the fact he didn't succeed when he wanted to, and I don't have time to mull over my feelings to figure out in what way do I mean that myself. Somehow, a low moan reaches me from his throat that has the tube inside it. He points towards it and I realise it must be causing him discomfort.

"You want the tube out?" I ask in my patronizing, doctor like voice.

He nods slightly. I know I'm technically not meant to touch it, but I know that the ventilator is no longer necessary and I'm not going to wait around for somebody to come if he finds it distressing.

He coughs intensely after, then falls back on the bed, trying to recover his breath, "Sean…what have you done?"

He can't talk much yet, but I know he means me saving him and I feel like I wanna slap him. I almost do, "why did you do this?" I ask the question niggling my mind from the moment I saw him on the floor instead.

"Because I can't face you."

Yeah, I knew he'll make me somehow responsible. Fury clenches my jaw. F… him! He has no right! But as quickly as my rage rises, it disappears just the same, my heart twisting at I can see the vulnerability in his eyes as they start to fill up with tears. He's just a child. And his child is my child, but he is one himself. A child I have to look after, just like I have to look after his son. They all want me to take care of them, including Julia. And that is what actually gives me the strength in life, that people depend on me and I can't crack up. I sigh and sit down on his bed, close to him. I can see his hands trembling. Maybe the effect of the drugs, maybe not. I can't pinpoint the emotion I see in his eyes right now, but I know I have to say something to make it all better. I don't know what I could. Right now, I don't feel like I had forgiven him.

"You need to give me some time to process," I admit, "but I'm here with you right now. Don't you think it means something?"

"It's my fault," I hear him whisper. He's out of air, virtually hyperventilating. I wonder if I did the right thing with the tube, but he looks away from me and the tears start rolling off his cheeks. He struggles into a sitting position just to be able to turn away even more and hide his face from me.

"Calm down," I break the uncomfortable silence in the room. I really had enough of this, "take a deep breath. It's all right," I put my arms around him to underline my words, "I will help you, I promise. It's okay, just calm down. Why don't you lie down and rest for a while," I say with forced calmness, easing him back onto the bed. He's a mess. Although he's always a bit unsure of what life has to offer for him, he doesn't seem to be the man I know. Of course, that's to be expected under the circumstances.

He is breathing deeper now, his eyes half closed, "I...I don't...know what to do."

I squeeze his hand, "we'll figure it out. Just not this, if you don't want me to be angrier with you than I already am. If you try once more, I kill you myself. There is help available. I want you to go to therapy."

"What if I do? What does that change?"

"You know what it does. It teaches you how to handle your emotions, make you understand that you are experiencing something that is very common, very understandable and treatable."

"I'm talking about us," he finishes with his head turned away from me again.

I sigh. I'm so gonna kick his ass again. He wants me to stay involved, "it's probably normal for you to feel guilt as well. Doesn't mean you gotta run away."

"You blame me."

I can't lie, "what else do you want me to do, Christian?"

"It was…hard for me…please…understand…" He still hardly speaks more than syllables. And I'm sure it isn't because of his throat.

"How was I supposed to know anything, when you don't express your feelings and don't reach out for help?"

He swipes his fingers over his brow, "I'm…I feel so mixed up. I hear you, but I have difficulties concentrating to what you are saying."

"That's normal as well," I assure him, he'll be too confounded right now to even know what' wrong with him, "you need to rest. I get Dr. Mula and she'll sort everything for you," I turn to leave.

"Wait!" His voice is louder than ever since he woke up, "Cassy? Dr. Cassidy Mula?"

"Don't tell me you slept with her too."

"A couple of times…" He acknowledges, and I can see he's embarrassed about it.

"You don't want me to call her?"

"Well, I guess…it doesn't matter."

I nod. If he squirms more I'll lose it. This is a medical situation and I should act like it, "you take care of yourself. Try to get some sleep and I'll see you again later on today, okay?"

He nods, probably happy that I leave him alone. God I need sleep myself. I don't have to worry about his immediate well being, he will be under psychiatric care for the next seventy-two hours at least. Standard procedure to stop any further attempts. I'll come back after I slept. He'll need me. I know he's not gonna talk to a psychiatrist. Especially not a woman. He will never tell anything a woman. I need my strength for him.

Tbc.


	4. Diagram

Chapter 4: Diagram

It's well in the afternoon I get back and I find out Christian got moved to the psychiatric ward. Another good sign. His door is open, as with all patients under strict supervision. I can see him from far, sitting on his bed and staring out the window.

"Hi. How you feeling?" I say as I walk in.

He doesn't respond, just keeps on staring.

"Hey, are you there?" I ask a little louder, then reach out to touch his shoulder.

He slowly turns towards me, but he avoids my eyes, "I'm fine." He doesn't sound fine. I sit down in a chair. I expected it to be difficult, but he continues, "how did you find me?"

"I was told…"

"How come you brought me in here?" He interrupts me.

"Off chance I went in the surgery the right time. I guess God had something to do with it. He must have. He wanted me to help you."

"Help me then. They keep me prisoner. Get me out of here. If you sign…"

"I need a little bit more for that than you saying you're fine, Christian, and not even meaning it one bit!"

"I just wanna go home and forget about it."

"No. I don't countersign anything. It would be my responsibility if you did anything. Maybe that's what you want?" He turns away, disappointed by me mocking, so I give some way, "okay, what would you do if you'd be home?"

"Have a good f…"

"That's not gonna solve anything. You know that."

"It does. For a while. Besides, I get awfully anxious if I don't…"

I'm not arguing with him. His sex addiction is one of the things I'd like him to got to therapy for, "Christian. If you want me to even consider signing that paper not even twenty four hours after you made sure you'd die, you have to talk to me. Please say what's on your mind."

"No," he speaks with a strong minded definiteness. I recognise that reaction. Not as if we haven't been over similar occasions when he was down a thousand times, "it won't help." I contemplate what I should do next, but he seems to have changed his mind at least a bit and starts to speak, "I keep feeling like I'm not… I don't know… up to your standard. You're so damned textbook and you expect everyone else to be like that. And I can't. I make mistakes Sean and I don't think I can learn not to. So we're back to the good f…. those women want me, they don't judge me. It feels good you know?"

"I'm not perfect either!"

I hear him sigh, "but you're much closer to it than I am. God, I hate this sex issue coming up over and over again. I hate it. I really do," he said, rubbing his temples, "will you trust me again if I sorted that?"

I nod, not sure if I mean it, but right now I would lie to keep his spirits up. I also know there's much more to it, but I have to let him speak about what he's willing to at first, "what went wrong when you tried it before?"

"I found myself spending inordinate amounts of time in fantasy land. By that, I could just about maintain the same level of arousal as if I was doing it in reality. It's kind of a double whammy for me. Think it went so far it's gone actually chemical. I need the peptides that are released when sexually aroused to function. It's better than heroin believe me, I've tried both. But not even with fantasising can I counterbalance the part when I start thinking about being inadequate, unworthy, alone, and afraid. I get moody and desperate. I want people to connect with me and make me whole! I thought about it so many times. I don't need any psychiatrist to tell me that it is this habit is what makes true intimacy impossible. Lust kills love. Conning myself time and again that the next one would save me, it's really like having no life whatsoever. How long can one go on like that?"

"Hey, hey, hey, slow down, one day at a time, one problem at a time. You need to concentrate on the present, on getting better, not the future. That will follow precisely from the present."

"The present. What is the present like Sean? Is it so beautiful? Does it not hurt every minute?"

"I never said it didn't. Right now, it bloody does," I admit, "but you know how it stands? It's a lot of work to be mindful, loving, and valuable. Also, being courageous enough to try is a choice, and a decision. Are you willing to make that decision?"

"I…I can't do it alone. I tried. I don't know how I can be different."

"That's what I'm saying too. If you don't like the way you are, you need therapy."

"I need you Sean. I need you to be like you once were with me. You know, go out for a pizza and a beer and talk. Just like before…before we ever met Julia."

"I'm not the same person anymore." I'm not. Christian is the one that hasn't evolved. I'm cleverer now, I can't get drawn into other people's mess, while I have one of my own. But committing myself to him probably causes less mess than if I didn't. I want nothing to do with Christian anymore. But that I can't do. Not until he stands on his own two feet. Oh hey, did he or will be ever? One day at a time, I remind myself of the same principle I lectured Christian about, "but that's good. Asking for help is good. Look, I know you don't wanna hear this, but you need to go back to the roots of your obsession. Then, you'll get comfortable with yourself and you won't need me. I would feel happier if a specialist guided you though. Weren't we friends for twenty years? If I could have helped you I would've done it by now. But there are people who went through the same things as you did, and there are people that are qualified…Christian?" I ask as he seems to be staring somewhere out the window again.

"I hear you."

"I need an answer."

"I'll speak to…whoever you want me to speak to. Whatever you think Sean."

Whatever I think? I think he is still very dependent on me and trying to make me happy. Those are not the right reasons for seeing a psychiatrist, but if it's the best I can achieve, it will have do just now, "will go for that pizza after," I promise.

"That'd be great," he responds emptily, staring at some mysterious place on the floor this time.

"Sorry, but I need to go look after the practice as well."

He nods, and I already step over the doorsill when I hear his quiet voice, "you need to take Julia back."

I freeze up. I know I haven't deal with that issue yet and I know I'll have to some time. I don't know what to say, but I look back at him. He is openly crying now.

"I will." Not immediately, but I know that I will eventually. Love her too much not to. Love him too much not to. I smile, making everything better and I step back and pull him into a brief, supportive embrace before I leave.

Tbc.


	5. Figures

Chapter 5: Figures

I'm expecting Christian back to work this afternoon. He wanted to come in the morning, but I told him I didn't need him until the more complicated facial implant surgery at three o'clock. In fact, I don't want him to come in until the workmen didn't put back up the repaired sign on the wall that symbolises our partnership, which they promised to finish by noon. Not wanting to work in the noise created by the handymen, I find myself parking my car in front of Christian's apartment house building, just like I did every morning for the last week, when I went to see how he was doing. While we're struggling to make our relationship feel a bit warmer, I don't see any real change in his mood yet. He's on his second type of antidepressants, since the first ones, that were also supposed to reduce sex drive, upset his stomach as a quite common side effect. It's at least two weeks before tricyclic antidepressants fully kick the brain's chemical balance into the right direction and he only started taking Celexa two days ago. We were out for that beer I promised him as he attended his first therapy session. It felt like treating him like a child with the reward, but I was hoping it will make him happier. Unfortunately, it happened exactly at the time when he had the stomach upset, so I ended up taking him back home very early and without much having been said between us. I'm hoping this time we will have a better shot at it, since I'm bringing news. I reconciled with Julia last night. I can't punish everybody because of my pride, the children need their mother. She's very humble now, I probably can make her do anything for me for a while. I'm having the crazy thought of bringing her over to Christian's as she managed to cheer him up many times in the past as I look for the spare key for his apartment in my pocket, that I had since he bought this place. I had for the kitchen to put down the croissants and the butter I brought him as I'm not sure he would've bothered going out to fill up his fridge yesterday. I still don't understand when did he get this deep. If me threatening to split up the practice was only the last straw, why didn't I notice anything unusual? Of course, it was hard to notice anything unusual with him, as there always was something up. Then I had my own problems with the car accident and the family. Munching absent-mindedly on my own croissant, I wander into the kitchen to experience the full view of the back side of a Creole naked woman with muscles to spare emptying the coffee filter into the garbage.

"How strong do you take it?" She asked, naturally assuming that the noise of somebody coming in would be made by Christian.

"He hardly ever drinks coffee," I tell her and she turns around, startled, gives a little shriek, and pulls the dish cloths in front of her, just about managing to cover her intimate parts. I know her. Or at least, I saw Dr. Mula a few times on the night I tried to make sure Christian stays with the living, "what are you doing here?" I holler at her, "are you not a doctor to understand that filling somebody's sex addiction is not going to make them less suicidal on the long term?"

"Chris has a sex addiction?" she asks innocently, eyes wide.

"Chris?" I first react to the seldom used, but intimate name she calls Christian, then, "don't you read medical files?"

"I'm an emergency room intern, not a psychiatrist."

"Still, I rephrase the question, you treat a suicide by wandering into their lives for a few hours and leaving?" I confront her.

"What is it exactly you're accusing me of?" She asks confused, but she stops, looking towards the door behind me.

Christian walks in leisurely, barefoot and in his bathrobe, ignoring the fact we are so obviously speaking about him, drying his wet hair with a towel, "buena mañana, mi querida," he kisses her softly, "necesita esta?" He means the towel he has in his hand that he wraps around her waist, giving her better cover from me. He touches under her jaw, leaning close to her for a soft kiss, but I can still see some tongue action briefly, leaving me speechless for a moment.

"What's going on, Christian?" I recover at last, trying to look straight in his eyes as he turns.

"What does it look like?" He takes his arrogant attitude, wasting no time to respond to my comment and I wonder if it's a good sign. He's not talking to me about what really matters, he is even offensive with me, but at least it's how he used to be before his suicide attempt.

"It's maybe better if I talk to you later. I'll come round tonight, after my shift?" Cassidy Mula is finding the situation very awkward and ducks out besides me, picks up her clothes on the way to the bathroom.

I look back at Christian disapprovingly, "this is not the time to be carrying on like…"

"Come on, where's your sense of adventure? Not many times I get to have a woman because he pities me…" He added sarcastically, "besides, she came here."

"Oh, yes, it's never you, it's always the women that throw themselves at you."

"Well," he straightens up, with an allure that I would've mistaken for overconfidence just a couple of weeks ago, but I'm getting more and more convinced that it's an act, an attempt to mainly confuse his own mind with self contradiction, which, to my surprise, usually works with him. He's not hiding well enough behind the self righteous mask yet, but he probably will be able to very soon. Again, it's doubtful, if that's beneficial, or not.

"Why do you want it so badly?" I confront him, "do you have some kind of wish for trouble?"

"I just need to."

"Why!"

"Because I have to," he says angrily, "you really think it's that easy?"

"Talk to me. I'm all ears."

He winces at the thought," there's nothing to talk about. Last thing I need is one of your lectures."

"Okay, you know what? Fine!" I gesticulate angrily as I walk towards the door, having had enough of my conversation with the wall. How much more can a person try and help his friend? I'm damn sure he didn't tell anything the therapist either, "I'll be late from work," I step out on a less angry note, but quite sure that I'm taking my hands off him. He seems to be back to his own self, which spirals out of control once in a while, but there's no need for continuous baby sitting. I have my own problems to worry about. Such as finally finding the tone with Julia and Matt. More likely that I can influence him, give him a good start in life, then I can manipulate Christian. The family is the most important thing for me. What else could be more important, than reproduction? Not biological reproduction, as it stands, but procreation at some level at least. That, along with helping people, like I do at the surgery. Enough responsibilities without having to borrow additional ones, all more important than Christian, I fizz. Who does he think he is, claiming that much of my time? People who don't wanna be helped, can't be helped. I had enough, entirely, completely and definitely enough! I know that's a selfish way to think. But I can't help the way I feel. And I don't want to. How about a little bit of self assertion here?

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It was painfully obvious to all parts involved that we were avoiding each other for a whole week, doing surgeries separately as much as it was possible, interviewing patients independently. Not as if it didn't happen before. It was standard practice between us, that when one of us did something that bothered the other, usually Christian, we simply stayed out of each other's way till feelings settled. Perhaps it was best settling into old ways of functioning. Despite all my trouble and intentions though, I found myself over obsessing about finding out the contents of the medicine cabinet each day. Of course he still had the keys. We had no right and there was no point in taking them away from him, since there were other ways of killing yourself if you really wanted to, but at least checking the drugs helped my own conscience a little. My partner, in the meantime, charming as ever, swept all our female patients off their feet, all wanting their surgery to be performed by him. Found one girl making an appointment just to see him, she didn't want anything done and was very disappointed I interviewed her and wouldn't tell her which bar will Christian be at tonight. It doesn't surprise me, nothing surprises when it comes to his women. His activities could be harmful to the practice again, so, I maybe going to have another word with him. It's even harder now, I have to make sure I don't hurt him too much with my criticism. But what's too much is too much. I decisevely walk towards his office, but I get fazed by the scene on the corridor. Matt and Christian. This is the first time I see them together since I found out the big secret.

"Don't worry about it, I'll sort everything out," I hear Christian. What is it that Matt entrusted him with again, instead of discussing it with me? Usually it would be something I don't agree with. It's not just the fact that they do away with me in the process, but I also don't like Christian's influence on my boy. The impact of his genes will be enough to deal with, thank you very much.

Matt stoops down on the floor, but Christian shouts at him and tosses him out the way, "I said I'll deal with it! Some of this is contaminated! I'll get gloves," he disappears in one of the rooms and I can see several shattered blood samples on the floor.

Matt sees me, and meekly explains, "sorry dad, it's my fault, I came to talk to you, but I managed to handle the door in a way I flung all those out of Christian's hands."

"They were already tested, Sean, we don't need to take blood samples from the patients again," Christian assures me and starts to clear up the mess. Now that I don't feel threatened by the two going behind my back, for the first time I see his shyness in front of the boy, he hardly looks at him as Matt apologises again. He has no idea how he should change his behaviour, now that we all know their real relationship. For a moment I feel sorry for him, I had so much more practice at these things. At first, I didn't know myself if I should change how I behaved towards the boy, but soon I realised, the less change, the better for everyone. Of course, mine isn't the same situation as Christian's. The opposite in fact. Nevertheless, I am completely aware that, despite everything, I'm still better off, with my family behind me. And I intend to keep it that way.

"Something wrong, Matt?" I concentrate on my son. He's already passing me, heading into my office and I'm happy when I can shot the door behind us. Not any other time in the world did it feel so good discussing family matters in private. It's like claiming my son back.

By the time I get through the automatic cue system of the bank, figure out why Matt's student account has been restricted and lift limitations, I realise I'm late from the operation room. It doesn't matter. We are supposed to perform rhinoplasty together. I have to say, missing out on the get washed in for surgery together is part of the plan nowadays.

tbc


	6. Slip

Chapter 6: Slip

Having finished my tuna sandwiches enjoying the sun on a bench next to the practice, I started back towards the staff room. I wasn't cheating time, I had Mr Popkiewitz's files with me, deciding what kind of anaesthetics I should give and calculating how much. Besides, I always had a light meal before surgery, cause despite all guidelines, you never really knew how long it would last, especially when Christian was in charge. I had to get ready quickly, cause I only had ten minutes till the scheduled time I should restart my duties in the operating room, but I realise there is no need to rush when I barge in the staff room to get rid of my lunch box. Christian is in there himself, sitting on the couch with some files on his lap as well. But from the way his leaning back on the couch, his deep breathing and shot eyes I know he's asleep. I bang the door behind me, he has work to do. Unfortunately for this purpose our doors are cushioned against such treatment and the modest thump doesn't wake him up. His sweaty hair sticks to his forehead and his tired look makes him look vulnerable, so I sit down beside him and gently touch his knee, "wake up, we have surgery."

He shifts, takes a longer breath, and opens his eyes, "who wouldn't get whacked after reading the new techniques used in lower lid arcus marginalis release, and catching up with fifteen patient files?" He tidies up the papers on his lap.

"Must be really weird to be you. Is that the only lame excuses can you come up with?" I look around as I only see three files in the room, and I'm holding one, not to mention that there are no specialist magazines nowhere near in the area. I don't mean my comment callously, but it's the way things have always been between us. In fact, I look forward to some sort of haughty reply from him every day, and I'm hardly ever disappointed. In a way, our clashes lift my self esteem, as I can reassure myself by being able to stick it up against him, "you must be tired for being up all night conquering the female population." It did occur to me several times that I should be more careful with him after his suicide attempt, but it would've felt so unnatural and out of place. He surely didn't want any different treatment from me, he made sure of that with his foul bickers he directed towards me right after he came back. I'm not slow-witted, I can prove that with my own remarks, and I do know he's like this because he doesn't want anyone knowing the real him, but what can I do? I can't just let him win all arguments. I wonder though, if he needs to hide the real him, how much worse can that be that his masked self? Nevertheless, I'm not much for psychoanalysis, if I was, I probably won't be lonely. What I'm especially not interested in, is Christian's inner world. His outer one is utterly enough for me.

"What's wrong with that?" He answers my question, "Liz, you and me, we want the same thing. Women."

I grimace and shake my head, fighting the impulse to make a malicious observation, but to my own surprise, I'm considerate towards him given the circumstances and opt to enlighten him instead. After all, I might be lost sometimes myself, but I'm ultimately a good person and I have to behave accordingly if I wanna be happy with myself, "my sexuality is about affirmation. Lesbian identity is a positive action,

loving and honouring women, creating bonds, not just what we share in the bedroom."

"That's because some know how to, most don't."

"What? How to be modest?" I comment dryly. I know I can be loud mouthed at times, but I can't help it.

He doesn't respond, disappearing behind the door, I'm assuming to change his clothes. I don't mind, I can come up with other comments in the meantime with which we can make surgery more exciting. With the usual silence between the two doctors since the big shock for Sean, it can be a bit unpleasant in there sometimes.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hey, in a perfect world every female would end up falling into your arms like they were going home," I comment when Sean enters, "that is why you have a problem with lesbians."

Sean's overdue, Christian had already removed small wedges of skin to narrow the base of the nose and is glancing sharply towards me, "I think had enough of your jokes for one day, thank you very much," he says sardonically.

I share a glance with Sean as he picks up his own scalpel. He looks a bit bewildered, he opens his eyes wide and nods towards me.

I must look a bit incredulous as well as I stare at Christian, "do you not have at least one good snap back today? I mean what's the fun in offensive remarks if all you get is silence? What's this? Did I actually manage to render the legendary Dr. Troy speechless?" After all, I'm doing nothing more, than the usual mockery between us, "never thought that would happen. I have to mark this day on my calendar."

Sean is already right in the middle of it, placing incisions inside the nose to provide access to the cartilage that shapes the nasal framework, but he asks at the same time, "what's going on?"

"Getting ready to view the endonasal structures," his partner responds, then "retractor," he commands and Meera, our new nurse complies.

I feel the need to answer Sean's real question, "I'm just used to Christian responding

back viciously, not getting upset."

"I'm not upset," he everts the caudal edge of the alar rim with his double pronged retractor.

Sean presses down on the cartilages, along with their simultaneous inferomedial displacement, "bad day?" He looks up at his partner for a second.

"Well, how many times in one day can I try getting out of the car with my seat belt still on?…Cartilage grafts," he orders, so he can place them in the columella for

additional tip support, but he immediately gives them over to Sean, "could you? I need to sit down."

"What?" Sean took the implants off him, momentarily not remembering his own notes on where exactly he wanted to put them, "what's wrong?"

Christian glances at me, "your seat…" Given his sweaty forehead, misty eyes and the weak, pain stained voice he says this with, I don't hesitate to grab my stool and hastily place it behind him. He is already holding onto the table and I'm afraid he'll faint on top of the patient, so I guide him a couple of steps back, ease him down myself and free his face. He's quite pallid, "I'm nauseous," he touches his tummy as he says this.

"I would prefer if you didn't throw up in here," Sean crunches his forehead, "Liz, could you help him out?"

"What about Mr. Popkiewitz?"

"Meera will get you if there's any change in the heart rate. Just get him out already and be back as soon as possible."

"Christian?" I instruct him to move.

He stands up, "I'm ok. I can go myself."

From the slowness of his movements as he goes to the door, I'm not so sure. Neither is Sean, cause he indicates with his head that I should follow, "take his vitals, talk to him," he instructs me. Under any other circumstances, we would've let him go, but not with that suicide venture behind him.

"You feel like telling me what that was all about? I might be able to help," I shadow him on the corridor. He doesn't answer, but I can hear that his breathing got heavier,

"what's going on Christian?"

He sighs and sits down panting the same place I found him sleeping not even an hour ago, "I'll tell…you when…the sickness…passes…" He says between deep breaths.

I take the time to check his blood pressure, and I report it back to him, "ninety over sixty," I reach for his wrist, but he shakes me off, "no need Liz, I'm okay."

I don't want to humiliate myself by showing open concern towards him, but my medical vocation doesn't let it lie, so I ask him, "did you take anything?"

"Do you really think I'd do it that openly and in the middle of an operation?"

"You do weird things in the middle of operations."

"Just my stomach playing up."

I eye him unbelievingly, "why would it do that?"

"Why not?"

"Well, if I'd count the number of times we caught you lying…"

"If I'd count the number of times you go out your way to point out my faults…"

"There are two to dance…" I start to defend myself until I see the hurt look in his eyes. He could pretend as he wanted, but in those, he had trouble hiding his pain. I frown as I feel a bit guilty when he is slightly recoiling back from me. The look on his face is stony, daring me to say something else in a twisted self damaging kinda way and I suddenly feel sorry for him as I notice his hands shaking. He clasps them together, frowning when he notices I'm looking right at them and that he can't make them stop. I guess he is a lot more vulnerable than he looks most of the time, at least just now, "whatever it is, you'll tell Sean right?"

He nods slightly, and leans back on the couch. I fetch a glass of water and give it to him, "look, I have to go back. Will you be all right?"

"Said so," he gives me an exhausted smile.

Walking back to the OR, I swear to myself I'll try to hold myself back to responding to any negative remarks he shots towards me. Not forever, no, but for a while.

tbc


	7. Natural World

Chapter 7: Natural World

God, it's good to feel sick. I don't have to think, I can't think, my physical ailments are overpowering my mind as I desperately try to keep myself from throwing up. I lean forward, moaning, careful not to spoil the couch. My belly is throbbing, and it's nice that way because it gives me the comfort similar to floating on the bottom of an ocean where none of my negative thoughts can reach me. Hey, that was a negative thought. My eyes wonder in the direction of the clinic waste disposal box and I remember I had to throw quite a lot of blood samples in there today. All because my son felt uncomfortable in my presence and wanted to slip away unnoticed, turning over a tray. Matt certainly did not welcome me as his father with open arms. I know somewhere deep down that I overreact, but that's the way depression works, right? Perhaps he was just confused as I am about the way our new relationship should be. Hey, I'm thinking again, must mean I'm feeling better. Rain check, no, I'm not nauseous, I'm just tired, my stomach is only vaguely uncomfortable. Thankfully, I don't have much more time to contemplate as Sean enters. He's finished with surgery quite quickly, I guess he was rushing it because of me and I hope he didn't mess up anything. I would ultimately be my fault.

"You feeling better?" He comes to sit next to me, placing a hand on my shoulder. I know he means good and I appreciate it, but he has no idea what I'm experiencing. It's so lonely. He's going home everyday to the dinner his wife cooks him every day, to his daughter that runs down the stairs to kiss him in the hall, right under the picture of his parents on the wall who have been so proud of their son's achievements.

I envy him. I envy his life, his problems, his competence, his wife… "Much better, thanks," I lie. Well, more or less.

"What was wrong with you? Don't you wanna lie down? I could take you home."

Home, yeah. My empty home, "no, I can still sit. I could catch up with some more paperwork. You don't have the time for it anyway."

"Liz said it was something about your stomach."

"Side effect."

"What? Does Celexa upset your stomach as well? Maybe you should try some antidepressants that are not selective serotonin uptake inhibitors. They are less likely to cause a digestive malfunction."

"No, Celexa is fine. I went back to Fluvoxamine."

"But…why? You knew it was going to make you feel sick."

"Not necessarily. Symptoms should be less intense the second time round."

"I still don't understand this. What's wrong with the other antidepressant?"

"It doesn't reduce my sex drive that's what's wrong with it!"

"Both drugs are known to do that, more or less."

"But it's whatever works for the individual. And I know what works for me. Sean I can't do this anymore. I shouldn't do this anymore. I slept with three different women last night."

"Certainly there are other ways…"

"There are. I also shot myself with Lupron."

"Lupron? The drug given to sex offenders? Don't you think that's a bit drastic?"

"Whatever works Sean!"

"That's insane Christian. What about the sexaholic meetings?"

"So I bump into Gina? Literally? I'm sure she's still desperate to make herself another bump."

"Who says you have to go to the same group she went to?"

"She moved. I don't know which group she attends now."

"Go then."

"Why? So I can meet other women like Gina that all wanna bounce on me?"

Sean sighs, "what's up with Cassidy?"

"She wasn't freaked out by me being a sexaholic."

"That's good."

"No. She was trying to be too protective. I got rid of her."

"There's no winning with you is there?…the meeting that's just a few blocks down the road, it's on tonight, right?"

"Gina used to go there."

"But you said she probably isn't anymore."

"Yeah, probably. I said probably."

"I don't care Christian. You need help. You can't fill yourself with chemicals that don't even work! I'm taking you whether you like it or not. No more paperwork."

"No more paperwork? Well, that part is sounds advantageous…"

"So you agree to go?"

"I'll…do it myself Sean, you don't need to take me. I promise," I say just so I shake him off. I can go and disappear very quickly, the same way I did before.

Tbc


	8. Mount Up

Chapter 8: Mount Up

I approach the wooden door of the main hall of the building, and peek in. The inside ambience is dimmed, with the blinds drawn to keep the heat out, but it's still hot. I'm not feeling too well as it is, let alone sit in a place where the air conditioner is not working. The hall is filled with people sitting around the tables. They must be doing some group work typa cooperation shit today, not the usual talkie talk. No way I'm involving myself in a close interaction with four other people doing some role bloody play, or god forbid, some situational brainstorming. I would leave myself, but before I could turn, I get tossed out by Gina.

She drags me all the way out to the hall, "I told you to stay away from here! This my place! Don't need some world class nasty mind making waves!"

"Ah, you gonna tell me that I'm repulsive, and I don't deserve to live?" I join in with the slaging, cause I'm good at it, "we're similar sweetie, so whatever you say about me, same goes for you. Besides, who wants to be in the same room as you are? I'm leaving darling, don't worry," I snigger and start down the corridor.

She catches up with me in a few paces, "wait."

"What, Gina?" I turn angrily.

"Uh…did you…did you hear about him?"

She means "our" son, "James sent me a few pictures of him last week."

"And? How is he?"

"I don't know. The envelope sits unopened on my table. I didn't have the…"

"It would've hurt too much to see him. I know, but…I still need to know he's ok Christian. Would you mind posting the pictures to me?"

"I don't know where you live. Again. Remember?"

"Wait. I'll write it down. Just a second," she runs back into the room and she walks back scribbling.

"How you've been?" I soften up. Although it's all her fault we lost Wilbur, I share her pain.

"A couple of month clean…not much, but…" She hands me a bit of paper with her address on it, "how…you've been?"

We pause, I sigh, "I don't really try coming clean."

"I don't believe that Christian. What are you doing here?"

I want to confess, finally spill out my guts to someone who would at least hazily understand, but I say something else instead, "did you know that the sexually addict body releases such powerful chemicals that detox should be considered the same way it is for heroine and cocaine addicts?"

She understand nevertheless, that I reached a certain point in my mislaid journey where I feel genuinely lost. She studies me for one long minute, "it feels like that sometimes. But there are techniques."

I don't say anything, but lean to the wall. If just once in this life she would do something that's helpful for me…it's hot and I start to feel sick again.

"Come on, you really don't wanna hear this. Definitely not from me. So why don't you take that corrupt mug of yours to some other meeting as we agreed? Can't believe you almost conned me again into talking to you!"

"Fine. I'm really not feeling well enough to fight with you anyhow," I really need to rush before I throw up, but I only manage to get to the stairs. She must've heard that. Right enough, there she comes staring at my mess for a second, "great. I'm the person in charge of the meeting, I'll have to clean up. What's wrong with you anyway? You still feeling sick?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Uhm," she guides me to a side room, leaves me and comes back with a bottle of water, "here. Wash your mouth."

"Thanks."

"Don't tell me you're crying." she says while I'm trying my best not to, "look, I can't do whatever you want me to do, cause the meeting is still on. I'll recommend a sponsor if you want."

"You're the perfect sponsor, cause we hate each other. There's no chance we would get it on. How many times we did it in a year? Twice? Three times?"

She hardens her lips, "no. But ask me anything just now."

"When you do succeed, how do you do it?"

She sits down and leans back, "it's a long story Christian…you never wanted to hear it before."

"Don't people get to a point where they really have to admit to the problem?"

"Something happened?"

"I lost Sean's friendship because of this."

"I'm sorry…so you wanna know how? When I get to that place where lust begins to flare up, there are a couple things I look at. When I find myself moving in this direction, I have usually convinced myself that I now have some kind of power over lust. I equate it to the alcoholic who now thinks he can drink like a gentleman. This is the insanity of my disease trying to convince me that what used to be dangerous, is now safe. For me, the solution has been to get together with a sponsor, and start the  
steps formally from step one, connect with my current helplessness and

unmanageability. I don't have to lust. Sometimes I want to, but I don't have to. And I'm not fighting it. You have to realise you have a choice."

"What choice if you are powerless?"

"I am far from saying I'm lust-free. But my attitude toward lust has changed. Lust used to be my best friend. Now I know that lust is not my friend at all. It wants to kill me. It certainly wants to separate me from God. I don't want it anymore! And one temptation at a time, I don't have to entertain it."

"I hear you, but how?"

"Well, yeah, how. Journey's long. The world is such a screwed up place, it's sad.

Look, you really need your own sponsor, one that is more successful than me."

"Right."

"You okay? To go I mean."

My head shots up, "fine," I lie, sniffing before searching for a way out without totally humiliating myself in front of her.

"You'll be fine," she nods, "can I have that piece of paper back? I'll write my friend's number on it. I know it by heart, he's my sponsor too. I'm sure he wouldn't mind.

"I'll be fine," I answer quietly, take the paper and totter out. There. I really made the first step this time.

Tbc


	9. Receiver End

Chapter 9: Receiver End

I drank a glass of absinthe. It was either going to settle my stomach, or make it a lot worse. Thankfully, it did the first. I'm sitting on my couch with the handset and I'm trying to decide whether I should phone this Philip guy Gina recommended. I'm tossing all my pride aside and I dial when the doorbell rings. I swear. It took me half an hour to come to a positive decision, now all is wasted. I'm gonna kill that wanker. I pull myself up, just as the knocking begins, "I'm coming!" I holler and cringe at the way my voice echoes in the apartment, that I can have, all for myself. I yank the door open and come face to face with the last person I expect to see on my doorstep at quarter past ten at night, "Annie? Where's your dad?"

"At home."

"Your mom then?"

She shakes her head.

"How did you get here?"

"I took the bus."

"At this time? It's dangerous."

"I ran away from home. Can I live here with you?"

"What?"

"I don't want to talk about it," she pouts, saunters in and plunks herself down on my couch.

I snatch the absinthe bottle and put it in the bar, "pumpkin, you know I'll have to tell your parents you're here. They must be worried sick."

"Please don't," she looks up straight into my eyes. She's biting her lip and tears stroll down her face that make my heart cringe and I slowly nod, "alright. Not just now. But you need to tell me what's wrong."

She rubs her eyes, with dirty fingers in need of some serious cleaning, then opens her arms wide and runs to me, "oh, uncle Chris."

I pull her close, my hands sliding over her shoulder while her loud tears drip into her long hair, "it's okay," I whisper, "tell me what's wrong."

"Mum ripped my study book to pieces and I have to rewrite it till tomorrow cause if Mrs. Gilmour finds out I haven't done my home work I can't go to the trip to Albany at the weekend," she rants.

"Don't you have to go home and finish it then?"

"You don't understand! The places where I should've written the synonyms in, they were in my work book, but mommy tore it all to pieces! I can't do it! I can't make it."

"Why did your mom do that?"

"Dunno. She said because I didn't write things nice and tidy."

"Well, can't you just say you lost the book?"

"No! I can't go to Albany then! Why don't you understand? I thought you'd understand. Matt always comes to you!"

"I'm sure we can sort it sweetheart. I'll phone this miss…? You teacher?"

"Mrs. Gilmour."

"I'll talk to her tomorrow and I'll tell her you did your homework at the surgery and I happened to spill on it some samples. Won't be too far from the truth…I'll do that. But honey, we really need to call your parents now."

"They will be mad. They will shout at me. Mom will…I'm afraid to go back."

I sit back down next to her, "what is it you're afraid of? What will mom do? Does she hurt you in any way?"

"She hits me," she lifts her skirt to reveal a blue, two inch long bruise on her thigh.

"I'm sorry darling. What did she hit you with?"

"Wooden spoon. Cause I didn't wanna eat my lunch. Please don't tell mom I showed you. I'm not allowed to show anyone."

"Does your daddy know about this? The bruise."

She shakes her head.

"Okay, can I call your daddy then?"

"He will be angry too."

"He'll be more angry if he doesn't find you soon. Don't worry, I'll talk to your dad. And your teacher."

"No, no, not my dad."

"I don't think he'll be angry with you, Annie. Maybe with your mom, but not you. You thirsty from all that crying? You want peach juice or orange juice?"

"Peach, please."

I go into the kitchen and I take my phone with me. I slam the door of the refrigerator as I take the drinks out, I'm angry with Julia myself. I understand she is not having the time of her life, but taking it out on Annie? Maybe she did this before too, I'll have to ask my god daughter. I detest every person that would hurt a child, in any way, so maybe I overreact, this isn't all that serious. It's nothing compared to what I got as a child, it's nothing compared to the domestic killers. Still, I don't like it. I can't believe how blindly I loved Julia all these years. If this is true…I wonder what Sean will say to all this, I consider as I speed dial…

Annie is asleep in my bed by the time Sean gets here. I gave her the remains of my Chinese dinner from last night and the television controls. She flicked channels twice before her head fell on her arm and I covered her. I'm silently showing my partner her whereabouts.

Sean shakes his head with a slight movement of his jaw, as he always does, "thank God, she's here."

"What happened Sean? For her to come all across town and crying all the way in the bus?"

Sean snorts, "they all come to you, don't they? First Matt, now she started as well," from his tone, I'm pretty sure he doesn't like it.

"It's not my fault they are not feeling comfortable enough with their own parents when there's a problem...come on Sean, don't take it like that. It's simply the uncle effect. What is important is Annie. So as I figure there's a workbook problem, that's why she came here."

"I'll sort the damn workbook problem. But we can't go telling people Julia rips them up."

"What about the hitting thing?"

"What hitting thing Christian? The occasional slap is part of education. How would you know? Stop putting your nose where it doesn't belong."

"Is this a slight slap too?" I lift up the cover and Annie's skirt, "this is practically child abuse. And if you don't do anything about it, I swear, I will."

He comes closer, examining the wound, "I didn't know about that," he sits down, rubbing his face into his palms. There's a storm in his paradise, "oh, God, what should I do with Julia?"

"Send her to therapy," I smirk, joking.

"Ohm, yeah, how did the meeting go?"

"Got a new sponsor."

"Great. Tell me about it tomorrow. But now I have to take princess here home. Maybe it'll be better if she just wakes up in her own bed," he lifts her up.

I follow them to the door and I feel thankful when I shot the door that I don't have to go quarrel with my wife now. Nevertheless, I'm tired and ready for my bed. I did some good today, even if it will cause I big argument between my friends. My friends? Julia was never my friend. Not really. I just pretended her to be. Hope they will be okay though, we are a big family. A life size, dysfunctional, blessed family. I'm part of it, whether I want it or not. One of them always makes sure of that. Why can't I take the help offered by my family, I ponder as I brush my teeth and get ready for bed.

Tbc


	10. Aid

Chapter 10: Aid

I'm only on my double bed for two minutes, but I already sense my thoughts become hazy as I drift off to sleep. An early night for me, very uncharacteristically, but I had a tiring day. I'll call that sponsor tomorrow, with me so worn-out, there's hardly a risk I will indulge in any activities, let alone sex. I want to ignore the door bell, but I realise it's maybe Sean coming back for something he forgot.

Kimber strolls in, in her usual persistent way, "feelings sorry for yourself, so I've heard."

"What are you doing here and who told you that?" I bark back at her.

"Sean did this afternoon. He told me you missed me."

"Huh? He hasn't told you no such thing."

"Well, not exactly. But he said I was your longest relationship."

"So?"

"So you need a hook to hang on to, somebody who truly loves you."

"You mean a hooker."

"I'm trying to help…"

"You wanna kill me and now you wanna help me? And I need help from a drug addict."

"Exactly. You need help from an ex drug addict."

"Bullshit. Like I believe that."

"Look, I know what you've done and I don't wanna loose you…"

"How would you loose me? You don't have me. Besides, why would you want me?" My miserable tone slips out from behind my cruel mask.

"I think you've had enough time to feel sorry for yourself. Now it's time for something else."

"Feeling sorry for myself? Is that what you think I have been doing? How can you accuse me of that when that was exactly what you have been doing?" I confront her again irately.

"Well, haven't you?" She lifts up her chin.

Kimber always gets me with her attitude, mostly because she can be so right. I don't know how she manages to guess everything eventually with her thick head. Must be the experience of being f…ed up. Like me. I'm angry with her, angry she doesn't let me sleep when I so much need it, angry she reminds me of some of the worst things I've done to a woman, but ultimately annoys me because she reminds me of how good somebody can still remain in the midst of all the shit that happens with us. I'll really never understand what she wants from me. Yeah, we are similar at some level, but she deserves better. God, she's hot in that white number. White always suited her, making her sexy. I could jump at her right now and I'm furious because of that too. I grab her arm and violently push her against the wall, "don't pretend you know everything sweetheart. It's so fucking easy for you, being able to talk about every little stupid thing that pops into your head. It's not as easy to let mince blubber out of the mouth for other people."

"Then start trusting someone, for once in your life. Not everybody is out to use you and throw you away the way you do with them. I never really returned the favour, not the way I should have…"

"I know," my hold on her loosens, "that doesn't mean I have to talk about things I don't want to talk about. Get out. Now," I let go of her completely, and step back, leaving her room to walk towards the door.

"Or else what? You threaten to kill yourself?"

"Don't you get in in your dippy head? I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to see you. I don't want anything to do with you."

"Yeah, right," she snatches the metal buttons on the front of her dress open and it falls to the ground. She doesn't wear anything under, as usual.

"We played that game before," I step back and want to run away. Exactly what I needed. A test. She got me with that trick before, more than once. She knows how powerful my craving her is. It's almost as strong as love, yeah, maybe, could call it a form of love. She doesn't move, waiting for me to react in some way and as I can't move myself, she knows she got me. I stare at her body, studying every area and aspect of her face and body in detail at the faint light of the streetlamp that illumines my room. She is my own masterwork, it is one of the reasons why I'm so drawn to it. There are some changes in the curviness of her thighs and hips, natural changes making her look like mother earth. That ultimate sex object that has the illusion of possessing the characteristics necessary for successful reproduction, according to Darwin, but who cares. I'm breathing deeply and I'm hot, starting to feel light headed with hunger and I reach out a hand to touch her face. I waver, but my anger gets the better of me and I grab her once more and push her against the wall again, "Go away!"

She smiles, "why would I go? You just proved me you want me."

She leaves me no other choice than to literally yank her towards the exit. I can do it. I'm stronger than she is. I throw her clothes after her and when I shot the door I realise that I have won. I have won a battle with myself over lust. I did! Somehow, I don't feel happy about it. Maybe because I'm depressed and I don't feel cheerful about anything. Maybe because winning had a price. It meant I had to play the disgusting Christian I don't like and at the end of it I am the way I was, alone. This is the old pattern, handled differently, nothing else. My soul is slowly ripping inside of me as I realise this. My mind is a craze. My tears are falling. My heart is twisting and it hurts. I make no progress. Is there a pattern here? Obviously. For a good reason? Probably. Is there a way for me to confront this issue? Probably. Maybe I was wrong all along. I am acting much like a damsel in distress and waiting for an somebody else to come, and love me enough to solve my problem. That, instead of standing up for myself and finding an answer. I was able to achieve everything by myself from a young age, why is it I can't do this? The only problem is that there are dark places inside of me that terrify me. Nobody knows how damaged I really am. No one does because I'm trying so hard to forget it myself. But I can't forget it. I know I don't want to, but I have to deal with my childhood, I have to talk to the therapist about it. And I know I have to call the sponsor to help me change my responses to sexual stimuli. And I have to take all the help that I can get from Sean. And when I'm ready, when at least part of me is healed and I'm not doing it for the wrong reasons, I'll go find Kimber. I can see Kimber is the one for me. I humiliated her so many times, but she's still coming back to me. Fact is that I love her. I love her because she loves me. That was the clearest my head has been for month. I shouldn't go getting lost now. I take a writing pad and I put pen to paper to compose my own personal steps for happiness, the ones I just thought of, the way they do it at the sexual addiction meetings, but in a more personalised way. As I regard my scribbles, I start to feel elated. It will probably be hard to complete these steps, but I'm not lost anymore!

Tbc


	11. Epilogue

Chapter 11: Epilogue

I know I should be getting the bag out of the car, but I do nothing but smile as my wife fumbles with the straps before taking our daughter out of her car seat. Kimber looks so beautiful today in that velvety dress that highlights her curly hair perfectly. Being a mother has done nothing but good to her figure and she enjoys the pampering she can give to Carolina, and, not to forget, me.

"You gonna get the stuff?" She breaks my reverie and I collect Carolina's bibs, spare clothes and wipes into her little rucksack and follow Kimber into Sean's house. It's my little girl's birthday today and my friend insisted on throwing her a party, while I was adamant that two year olds don't need that kinda treatment yet. Sean won the argument because Annie took the phone away from him and told me she already baked some cakes and that she needed an excuse to invite her friends over for a laugh. Although it would be only a pretext for the teenagers to have fun, Annie adores her little cousin, and we found the perfect baby sitter in her as she offers to spend time with her any time. Just like now, she runs to take her from Kimber's arms and Carolina squeals of excitement when Annie shows her all the balloons.

"How are you pumpkin?" I ask her.

"Pumpkin? Thankfully not pumpkin pie as daddy sometimes still calls me!" She grimaces, "okay, pumpkin I am, just for you uncle Chris. But haven't you noticed me growing up?" She bounces away with my daughter.

"She technically has a boy friend," Julian explains and she nods several times half frowning, half smiling.

"Well, well, what do you say about that?" I whisper to Julia.

"How can I be seriously mad? I had a boyfriend at her age," she smiles at me, rolls her eyes and tugs my sleeve.

"Yeah, I know. It was me," I whisper back before Sean gets into hearing distance. He knows about that too, but there's no reason to spoil even one moment.

"Speak of the devil," he approaches me, "I was just telling Matt how amazingly wonderful you handled that emergency pan facial fracture surgery all by yourself today."

"There's hope for your facial fat grafting yet," my son jokes with me, well aware of my strong and weak points on a professional level as well since he comes into the surgery every day in his preparation to start a new year at medical school, and the surgical rotations with it.

"Oh, we'll see about that," Liz pats me in the back.

"Want some beer?" Her partner arrives with three bottles and hands one to me.

I still don't believe in happily ever after, but who says I can't enjoy this? All it takes is for me to sit down in the midst of my new, extended, not so dysfunctional, fortunate family.

The End.


End file.
